by Addison Fox
“Of course. I’ll grab a cab.”
“With all that’s going on, are you sure you should be by yourself? I can have car service over here before you’re ready to leave.”
Montana waved it off, even as she was touched by his concern. “I’m fine. We’re dining in the middle of one of the city’s oldest hotels. Cabs line up around the block—I won’t even have to wait.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m a tough broad.”
Jackson gave her a big smile as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Yes, you are.”
As she watched his retreating back, Montana wondered why she was having such a hard time believing it.
Quinn stood at the curb and waited for Montana to leave the Plaza. It galled him to stand outside and wait for her, like a pet dog left tied up outside a store while his master did as she pleased, but it wasn’t to be helped. He wanted to keep an eye on her and intruding on her lunch would have gotten her back up.
Especially because she was only going to get her back up even further when he informed her he was attending her scheduled function this evening as her date.
Quinn did bless his overdeveloped eyesight—and her willingness to keep her schedule in a neat plastic cover on the corner of her desk—for the location of her lunch and the information for the evening.
Yet another black-tie charity affair would benefit from her patronage. At least this time she was attending as a guest and not as the focal point of the evening.
The only question left in Quinn’s mind was whether or not she was planning on taking a date. For some reason he wasn’t comfortable defining, the thought of Montana on a date left a raw, acid-filled path of fire from the bitter taste on his tongue clear to the pit of his stomach.
Quinn caught sight of Montana’s personal assistant as he hotfooted it out of the hotel. The man’s attention was so focused on the taxi line Jackson never even noticed him standing fifteen feet away.
Hunching his shoulders against the cool fall breeze that blew around him, Quinn figured Montana wouldn’t be far behind. Twenty minutes later, he muttered under his breath as he stole yet another glance at his watch. He began to move toward the steps that led to the hotel’s front door when he saw Montana’s long, lean frame, clad in a designer raincoat, pass the bellman.
He watched as her eyes focused on the waiting line of taxis as she descended the steps. Pushing as much nonchalance into his voice as he could, he stepped toward her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Montana dropped the hand she had up, midwave to the front car. “Quinn. What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I’m watching out for you.”
He felt a small hitch in his chest when the front of her raincoat came open and she planted a hand on her hip. In that moment, he got another look at those long, glorious legs of hers, on perfect display in the designer business suit that stopped above the knee. “Then why didn’t you just come with me? Why make the production of leaving earlier, only to show up a few hours later?”
“I wanted to see how you handled yourself.”
“How I handled myself?”
“Yes. Are you aware of your surroundings? Are you paying attention to who may be watching you? I’m sorry to say, you failed the test.”
A disgruntled businessman stepped around Montana to grab the first cab and she stepped aside, her annoyance telegraphing itself to him in short, irritated bursts. “Seeing as how I had no idea I was being tested, I call bullshit on your results.”
“You think last night wasn’t a test?”
The delicate eyebrows that had arched over her eyes in annoyance snapped together in time to her question. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“I thought that was your doing. Not some planned mock attack by the deranged asshole who has decided to make me his next target.”
Quinn had to give her credit. She might be scared out of her mind—the huddled, shivering woman from the night before hadn’t strayed far from his thoughts—but she wasn’t giving up without a fight.
Or a hell of a lot of moxie.
“I told you I was going to guard you until we got to the bottom of this.”
Montana exhaled a heavy sigh and moved back toward the cab line, her arm already going up to signal to the next available driver. Wind whipped around her, snapping at the long, sleek edges of her coat.
Quinn reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “Did you hear nothing I said? You can’t put yourself at risk.”
“What has gotten into you?” Large blue eyes stared up at him, crackling with barely repressed anger and a fire that seared him somewhere low in the gut. Despite intermittent flares of frustration that suggested he back off, it didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t push him away.
Or pull out of his arms.
Instead, the moment spun out between the two of them, hammering a series of blows at Quinn’s vigilant self-control.
The cacophony of noises in the street faded as he picked up on the sound of Montana’s labored breathing; the very surroundings he was committed to keeping a watch on dulled against the brightness that colored everything about the woman in his arms.
“You can let me go now,” she whispered.
“Actually—” Images slammed through his brain, all of which encompassed Montana Grant in varying stages of arousal.
The bright blue of her eyes turning a deep, dark indigo.
The flutter of pulse at the base of her throat that began to pound with the basest of desire.
The thick, heavy breaths that indicated her body’s desperate need for his.
All those images and a million more flew through his mind’s eye.
“Actually what?”
“Actually, I won’t let you go. Not yet.” Leaning in, Quinn pressed his lips against her surprised, parted ones, satisfied when she responded instantly. A small wicked moan escaped the back of her throat as her arms wrapped around his neck.
Hot, pounding desire vibrated through every fiber of his body, his muscles bunching and straining with the most primal need he’d ever experienced.
Ever.
With an urgent desperation he drew on her tongue, male satisfaction nearly a roar in his chest when she responded in kind, wrapping her own tongue around his with long, deep strokes. In perfect harmony, their lips merged and melded, retreated and rejoined.
He felt her fingers at the base of his skull, as one of her hands ran through the short hair at the nape of his neck. Her other hand held him firmly at his shoulder blades, as if she hung on for dear life.
His bull twitched under his skin from the pressure of Montana’s hand on his shoulder. Although the tattoo had never been tied to his arousal, Quinn could feel the animal’s impatience.
As Quinn continued to kiss the lush, vibrant woman in his arms, the tattoo grew more agitated, more active. Quinn knew Montana couldn’t feel the bull, as the animal’s physical presence was sustained within his aura, not his actual skin, but the sensation still bordered on unpleasant as her fingers continued to exert pressure. The increasing anxiety finally pulled Quinn from Montana’s swollen lips, his concentrated focus taking over once again.
“Quinn?” Montana whispered.
He had nearly bent his head back toward her when his bull’s impatience slammed through him in a wave of fury.
“Shit!” With a harsh jerk on her arms, Quinn dragged them both to the ground, cushioning her with his body as they hit the sidewalk before rolling on top to protect her. The move was so reminiscent of the evening prior, his body was almost on the move in the direction of the remembered attack.
Shaking off the last vestiges of arousal, he called his battle-honed skills to the surface. Forcing himself to slow down and assess the moment, Quinn allowed his senses to feel for the threat. In ever-expanding circles, he reached out with his senses, seeking the telltale
whispers of random electricity only a Destroyer could generate.
As the bull quieted, allowing Quinn to concentrate and feel for the threat, it registered.
Whisper light, but evident nonetheless, like short sparks that flew from your fingertips when you touched something after wearing socks on a rug.
Gotcha, asshole.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Quinn zeroed in on the direction of the current. The threat had come from the hotel, not the park across the street. That knowledge was followed quickly by one other certainty.
Her attacker had been inside the Plaza with her.
Chapter Seven
Montana held on to Quinn’s hand as he dragged her in the direction of the park. She tried to ignore the sharp barbs of pain that shot up her ankles from the heels she wore to focus on the situation at hand.
“Quinn? What is wrong with you?”
The infuriating man continued pulling her along, and although his grip was gentle, it was also firm enough that she knew he wasn’t letting go.
“Protecting you from a threat.”
With a short, hard tug, she planted her feet and dragged on his hand. “What is going on?”
“I felt something. Back there at the restaurant. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure. Someone was there.”
Darts of unease flitted through her. Was someone really and truly trying to attack her?
Kill her?
The acknowledgment was enough to have her ignoring the pain in her feet and moving with a renewed burst of speed as they ran into one of the park’s south entrances.
“Why are we going in here?” Even as she questioned him, Montana knew Quinn was doing his best to keep her safe. “Isn’t that making ourselves more of a target?”
“I just need to buy us a bit of distance so I can call for reinforcements.”
Montana kept pace with Quinn as he kept watch on both their surroundings as well as the screen of his BlackBerry. “It’s Tanner. I need your help. Wollman Rink.” He shoved the phone back into his slacks pocket as he dragged her several more yards toward Central Park’s famed ice-skating rink.
“But there are people here. What if he tries to hurt them, too?”
“Then we take our chances.”
With another hard tug on his arm, Montana came to a stumbling halt. She would have fallen to her knees if it weren’t for the hard grip he had on her hands. She heard the shouts of the people on the ice-skating rink—the loud, happy hollers of small children—and knew she couldn’t expose them to her problems. “I can’t put all these people in danger.”
Chest heaving with exertion and fear, more scared than she’d ever been in her life, Montana took some small comfort in the look that filled Quinn’s dark eyes.
Acknowledgment.
Understanding.
Respect.
“Quinn. What’s going on?”
A wave of fear skipped down her spine at the stealthy approach and she whirled around to find two men, nearly as tall as Quinn, walking up from the direction of the rink.
Both of them looked like they’d just stepped off the pages of GQ. Long legs encased in black silk slacks. One wore a black silk shirt to match, while the other had on a cashmere sweater that covered his broad shoulders with masculine grace.
Who were these people?
“Took you long enough,” Quinn rumbled.
Long enough? Could she have heard him right? Quinn had just made his call.
Both men ignored the insult, as one pointed in the direction she and Quinn had just run from. “Brody’s got the south entrance and Drake’s over at the hotel. Bond Street and I are here to help.”
Before any of them could say another word, a hot pulse of electricity struck her full force across the back, knocking her into Quinn. The impact was so immediate—so unexpected—her forward momentum took him down with her.
Whatever impression she might have had from the fashionably dressed men who had just shown up, nothing could have prepared Montana for what came next.
Both took off toward the path she and Quinn had just walked down, splitting out like two large cats, hunting their prey. Fascinated, Montana could almost forget the searing pain in her shoulder blades as she watched the beauty of their male bodies as they disappeared into the trees.
Suddenly, she couldn’t see anything as Quinn pulled her against his chest, his hands roaming over her back in large, expansive touches.
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.” She shivered as Quinn hit a particularly sensitive spot over her right shoulder blade.
“Here?” He pressed the spot harder.
That was all it took. Just that one touch over the center of the attack. Great, fiery stabs of pain ran down her spinal cord, flooding her system in shock.
With a loud scream, Montana fell forward into his arms as the world went black.
Quinn didn’t hesitate or second-guess his actions. Without waiting another moment, he ported them out of the park and into the Warriors’ brownstone on the Upper West Side. He’d deal with the inevitable consequences later.
Right now, she needed attention.
The trouble was, attention for what?
He’d assumed from the start they were dealing with Destroyers. And while exposure to their electricity would drain a human over time, one hard hit of a fireball shouldn’t have had this effect.
He glanced down at Montana’s pale face as he strode through the main hallway of the mansion. Damn it, this was all his fault.
His fucking distracted fault.
“Callie! Get down here!”
Even the bellowing scream couldn’t help allay the fear roiling through him. And retracing his actions only offered more frustrating questions.
It was obvious she’d taken the hit to her back. So he felt for damage, and even though her coat and suit jacket had taken a beating, both now bearing a large hole, he hadn’t found any blood.
So what had hurt her so badly?
“What are you screaming about?” Kane’s wife, Ilsa, walked out of the first-floor library, clearly intent on giving him grief, when she caught sight of Montana. “What’s going on?”
“Where’s Callie?”
“Get her in here. I’ll go get Callie. She’s in the basement looking into that research you asked her about.” Ilsa stepped aside and ported away. Quinn had barely laid Montana on the couch when Ilsa returned along with Callie.
“What’s happened to her?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair as Callie came rushing to Montana’s side. She was their resident expert on more things under heaven and earth than any one being should know. Quinn reluctantly stepped aside to let her take a look at the heiress.
And then there wasn’t any time to think or wallow or worry as Callie began firing a barrage of questions. “Destroyer attack?”
“That’s what I thought it was. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Why not?”
“I tried to feel for damage and she passed out from the pain. A fireball wouldn’t do that.”
“Okay. Both of you—help me get all these clothes off of her so we can look.”
Quinn held Montana up while the women worked to remove the raincoat and suit jacket. Once they resettled her on her side, Quinn could see bright, wicked slashes of red on her skin through the torn material of her blouse.
Callie didn’t hesitate to take control of the situation. “Ilsa. Please go get my medicine kit and something we can cover her up with. This top needs to be cut away. She’s already coming around.”
Montana’s long, low moan rose up in the room, fisting his heart and forcing a lump in his throat. He could actually hear the pain in the soft, mewling noises she made and it ripped at him.
“Shhh, now,” Callie crooned. “We’re going to get you fixed up.”
Their healer and all-around Wonder Woman tossed him a glance as she worked at gently pulling the material of Montana’s blouse away from her damaged skin. She mouthed the w
ord mortal with raised eyebrows before returning her full attention toward the task.
“Can you help her?”
“We’ll get her taken care of. Does she have a name?”
“Montana Grant.”
Callie tossed him another knowing look before running a soothing hand down Montana’s shoulder and upper arm. “Shhh, dear. You’re safe here. I need you to take deep, even breaths.”
“Where am I?”
Quinn moved around the couch to stand above her head, then crouched down on his knees so he could look her in the eyes. He kept his voice gentle as he assessed the pain that flashed in their depths. “You were attacked, sweetheart. In the park. But we’re going to get you fixed up.”
“Did you catch him?” She swallowed hard. “I mean. Those men. The ones you called. Did they catch him?”
Quinn’s heart turned over as he remembered her words in the park. Her unwillingness to drag innocents into whatever was happening with her. Whatever he’d suspected—whatever he thought she was involved in—had evaporated in that instant. The woman was innocent.
He’d stake his life on it.
“I don’t know. I brought you straight here. I’ll find out.”
She nodded and licked her dry lips. “Where’s here?”
With soft movements, he ran his fingertips over her brow, then smoothed his hand over her hair. “My home.”
“Smells nice. Safe.”
Before she could say anything else, Ilsa came back into the room, walking this time. The goddess had clearly understood the implications of Callie’s words—she’s coming around—and didn’t risk exposure by porting herself back into the room.
“I’ve got what you need.”
“Quinn. Ilsa. I need you to hold her still. I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”
Callie used the small scissors in her bag to cut away as much material as she could, leaving only a small patch still stuck to Montana’s skin. “I need to remove this to begin cleaning the wound. Quinn, hold her shoulders. Ilsa, please keep her legs in place.”
Quinn moved over Montana, placing his hands as Callie directed. The irony wasn’t lost on him, the contrast of this moment so different from when he’d held her in his arms not even a half hour before, as they’d shared that blazing kiss.